


Oopsie Claus

by boheme06 (bohemu)



Category: Psych
Genre: Gen, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bohemu/pseuds/boheme06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lassiter isn't exactly Scrooge, but he's no Tiny Tim either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oopsie Claus

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this one, or how it just abruptly ends, but I had to end it or else it'd keep going into a full fic.

Shawn and Gus's Psych offices usually see a lot of action. It's been two years since they opened, a fact that boggles most of the Santa Barbara police force. Not least of the baffled is Carlton Lassiter.

Lassiter is not the type of person to pray everyday-- he believes in making his own destiny. But since meeting Shawn Spencer, he's prayed everyday. Prayed that Shawn gets revealed as the poser that Lassiter knows he is. Today is no exception, especially when he finds a tinsel-covered pineapple at his desk with a green Christmas card attached to a leaf. He knows it's yet another day with that damn Spencer around.

"Goo-ood morning, detective!" comes the chipper voice of Santa Barbara's resident psychic. He's covered in red velvet with white fur. It takes Lassiter a while to recognize he's supposed to be looking at Spencer Claus. He's not amused. 

"Good morning, Spencer," he says in a dry, monotone. "But... isn't Santa Claus just a tad older-- and might I add plumper-- than you?"

Shawn's mouth slides into a smirk. "What? No, no. I'm Fred Claus. Gus is Santa!" Shawn motions behind himself, to where Gus is waddling awkwardly behind, stuffed into a fat suit under a traditional Santa suit. Gus glares at Shawn, giving him the usual death look. "Oh, come on, Gus! Walk faster! You can't walk that slow. You've got millions of presents to send all around the world tonight at the charity benefit." 

"Shawn," Gus hisses, "I can't walk at all in this. The suit is too tight, it's cutting off my circulation!"

"Gus, don't be a Californian Grinch. It's bad enough we hardly get snow. How are you going to live with yourself if you don't appear for all those good little girls and boys tonight?"

"First of all, Shawn, I don't think the children are going to buy a black Santa as the real deal."

"Oh please," Lassiter interrupts. "Everyone finds out about those ridiculous lies way before their parents think they do. I mean, even I figured it out before I was 14."

Both Shawn and Gus stand still, mostly in shock.

"What?" Lassiter asks. The two buddies try not to stare at Lassiter too long. Since they've known him, Lassiter has hardly disappointed with putting his foot in his mouth. Shawn assumes it's part of the reason that makes Lassiter despise him so much.

"Gus, when did you--"

"I was about seven."

"Yeah."

"You told me, remember?"

"And then we checked all the closets in your house."

"I took inventory," Gus smiles.

"And then we called each other after we opened our presents."

"Yup." Shawn raises his fist to pound Gus, and Gus does the same. The suit restricts Gus, and all he can do is wave his fist in Shawn's direction.

"The point is, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Burton," says Lassiter, quite loud and rude, "is that none of those children at tonight's event care about the jolly old man in the red suit. Today is just like any other day, with crime and murder. And all those children coming tonight care about is the stupid little frilly dolls and gadgets they're getting at the end of it."

Shawn raises his eyebrows and shares a look with Gus. They all know what this tiny victory means. But like always, the two partners in crime have to rub it in. They smile like little children. Lassiter scowls.

"Dude, whatever. It's Christmas. Merry Christmas, Lassy." Shawn places a peace-offering hand on Lassiter's shoulder. He shrugs it off.

"Merry Christmas, Spencer." The words hung icily in the air, like they didn't belong in Lassiter's vocabulary. "And get all this tinsel out of here, it looks like the station is a baked potato." He had to find out more about that murder case from two nights ago anyway. Lassiter turns and walks briskly away.

Shawn and Gus stay behind, mostly amused-- and in the case of Gus, uncomfortable as well.


End file.
